The words hung like frost.
Elizabeth went still. Then turned—abruptly, harshly—as if to walk away. But she did not make it far.
“Miss Bennet!” came a bright, too-loud voice. A woman in an enormous bonnet bustled forward, half-hugged Elizabeth with her eyes. “What a charming morning! And your wrap is simply darling—did your aunt give it to you?”
Elizabeth’s expression shifted with effort—upward, composed, the sort of smile that looked polite from across a room and hollow up close. “Thank you, Mrs. Ames. It was a gift, yes.”
“And what a fine one! Tell her she has excellent taste. Oh! Will you pass on to her that I shall have a pineapple at my dinner party next week? She is quite welcome to it afterward.”
“Naturally. Oh, Mrs. Ames, are you already introduced to Mr. Darcy of Pemberley?”
Darcy straightened beside her, rigid and silent. Mrs. Ames glanced up at him, and her eyes widened slightly. “Oh, of course! Mr. Darcy, what a pleasure to meet you. I have heard so much of you!”
He gave the smallest nod, with no encouragement for further conversation.
Mrs. Ames hesitated, then offered a flurry of comments about pinecones and plum cakes before finally retreating, her shawl catching slightly on a crate of walnuts as she turned.
Elizabeth’s smile collapsed the moment she was gone. Darcy’s hand curled around the stall’s edge as he waited.
She said nothing. No apology. No explanation. Just stared out at the crowd as though she, too, had come for oranges and discovered something rotten in the barrel.
He straightened. “How did it happen?”
Elizabeth’s shoulders drooped. “Miss Bingley.”
He caught her elbow—gently—and turned her to face him more fully. “Miss Bingley! You are sure?”
“I am… reasonably sure.”
His eyes narrowed. “Reasonably?”
“She had opportunity. And motivation. She has always wanted to discredit me.”
Darcy drew back half a step. “It seems to me you managed that on your own. You are accusing Miss Bingley of theft.”
“I am.”
“That is not a small thing to say.”
“It was not a small thing to do.”
His mouth tightened. “Then I require more than a grudge and a guess.”
Elizabeth’s breath came sharper. “It was the evening of the ball at Netherfield. I was in the retiring room, and Miss Bingley stopped by to speak some spiteful nothings.”
“Hardly a crime.”
“A few moments later, I left my reticule,” she continued urgently. “I went to comfort Mary, because Jane she was in tears and embarrassing herself behind the ficus. I set it down and when I came back the journal was gone. I know she was the only person in the room after I left. The maid had not touched it. I thought— I hoped— she had onlymovedit. I could not be sure until—”
“Until now?” His voice dropped low but sharp. “Why did you not tell me this earlier?”
“I did! That was why I insisted we go to London! I told you it was urgent—”
“You told me you wanted to help me catch a wife. That it was a mutually beneficial venture, though I doubt it now as I did then.”
“It was!”
“And you thought it a clever idea to withhold that a known social saboteur had your private musings in hand?”
